


Makes Perfect

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Prostate Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4821455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early!Klaine smut.  Kurt wants to bottom, but they both learn the benefit of patience and the right mood when the first time is a spectacular failure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [Makes Perfect](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5764627) by [Katerina_Hummel_Di_Angelo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katerina_Hummel_Di_Angelo/pseuds/Katerina_Hummel_Di_Angelo)



The first time Kurt mentions it, they're halfway through arranging a second batch of oatmeal cookies for the oven.  They've been alone all night, but there's a strange tension between them that has kept Blaine from relaxing, and when Kurt throws his oven mitts down and crosses his arms and puffs out his right cheek with his tongue, Blaine knows he's about to be told off or shocked or both.  The look on Kurt's face says _I have something to say and I'm going to say it_.

Still, he isn't prepared for what comes out when Kurt finally speaks.

"I want to have sex." Kurt blushes all the way down to the collar of his shirt. "I want to—receive, I want to be on top, and I want to do it with the lights out."

Blaine blinks, and then holds up a long wooden spoon. "The timer's about to go off on that first batch?" He puts down the spoon, picking at a clump of dough stuck to its back. "No more cookies?"

This is not the right thing to say, which Blaine learns as soon as the words leave his mouth and Kurt's blush goes from an excited sprawl to a blotchy, irritated show of embarrassment.

"Blaine Anderson, unless that's an objection you will march your butt right up those stairs while I safely pause our baking endeavors and get—ready."

"Right now?"

It's nerves more than anything that make Blaine hesitate—the idea of being inside of Kurt, of their bodies turned on and moving together, right there in front of him where he can see everything, feel everything, is so spectacularly hot he can't consider it without taking the risk of making a fool of himself.

Kurt narrows his eyes.

Blaine knows what it must have taken for him to bring this up, to actually articulate the details and insist they do it.  Though he has no trouble being bold and open once they get going, Kurt has never found verbalizing the nuances of their sex life easy, and has an even harder time  _asking_  for things—he typically does what he just did: make a demand.  Anyone else might find this frustrating, but Blaine is there when the facade breaks, has his hands on that tight, lovely body in the dark in ways no one else ever has (or will, he secretly hopes) when Kurt whimpers and sprawls and pants and begs and says his name.

He knows just as well what it does to Kurt when he gives in after an initial refusal, smiling and brushing past him, allowing their hips to touch.  He knows what it does to Kurt when he puts a hand on his waist and shrugs and lowers his voice and kisses Kurt's jaw with a soft, "Okay, Kurt."

 

*

 

The problem is, it's a disaster.  Kurt never loses that "just do it, Hummel; you've got this" mentality.  He's so determined—and Blaine is willing to let him have his way and just as eager to do it, finally—that it's doomed from the start. 

The first time Blaine was penetrated, it was the result of years of fantasy, of active engagement with the concept, of watching it happen in pornography, of months of Kurt's hands and lips on his body becoming less than adequate because of the acts they were  _not_  engaging in.  This is nothing like that.

First, the condom slips, because they're nervous and rushed through that part, and they keep reinforcing this nervousness in each other, creating a giant feedback loop of failure-tinged panic.  And then Kurt gets a cramp in his leg.  They're breathing heavily in the dark—Blaine isn't a fan of being hardly able to see—and Blaine's cock isn't staying hard enough.  Kurt stops them right in the middle and strokes Blaine to get him hard again, murmuring endearments he knows get Blaine going. Finally, they're there, and Kurt's ass is tight as a fist around him, and he bucks up and Kurt thrusts down—and Blaine comes after about thirty seconds with a strangled whine of self-directed disappointment.

"D-did you…?" Kurt asks.

" _Oh my god I'm so sorry._ " There are hardly spaces between those words, much less breath.

"Okay," Kurt says. "Okay." He climbs off of Blaine's softening cock, removes the condom, disposes of it neatly, and then sits down on Blaine's thighs. "Okay."

"Could you please say something other than 'okay'?"

"Okay?" Kurt's tone is dry; an attempt at sarcastic humor to take the edge off.

Blaine almost smiles. "I'm sorry.  That was bad."

"I thought you liked it when I was bossy." A pout, and the gentle touch of Kurt's hands on his chest, seeking reassurance.

"I do.  Most of the time.  And I want to—I wanted to.  You just caught me off-guard, and it felt way too—but that's not an excuse.  I'm sorry." He takes Kurt's hands in his. "Maybe next time—more build-up?" It's not as if Blaine has trouble lasting when they do other things.  That was simply too much, too fast.

"If you promise to stop apologizing like you did something wrong, I'm on board with that."

Blaine smiles and says, in a mimicking tone, "Okay."

Kurt swats his chest, and gives him a little giggle that feels like a reward.

 

*

 

Knowing specifically what Kurt wants changes Blaine's approach.  It's not as if he's been—avoiding that area, or even the hint of doing more in said area, but he has been light-handed (in the actual sense), exploring it only to tease or ratchet up the intensity of what they were doing, not necessarily as a matter of end game potential.  Now he can barely keep his hands away.  He's memorized the shape and give of Kurt's ass through every pair of pants Kurt owns (not a small number), knows when Kurt wants his hands to wander there, knows how hard to squeeze, how thoroughly to map it, depending on the way Kurt's body is moving against his, depending on the noises he's making and where his own hands fall.

Time alone to make out and undress slowly before sex is rare—even at Blaine's house, there are no locks on the bedroom doors, and his parents check on them and walk past his room often enough to make leisurely intimacy impossible.  That used to be a blessing, north of the equator, but now it's a curse.

Now Blaine  _knows_ , and he can't think of anything else.

Finally, they get a Saturday evening to themselves—his parents are away for the weekend and Burt gives Kurt permission to stay over with a toss of his eyes and a sigh.  He knows they're sexually active, love each other, and are responsible, and occasionally gives them a break, usually just when they're ready to plead and trade open-ended lists of household chores for a chance at privacy.

Remembering that Kurt requested lights off last time, Blaine switches off his lamps and breaks out tea lights as a compromise—he doesn't want to do this (or anything with Kurt, really) in the dark, but the candles provide dim enough light and also create a romantic atmosphere he knows Kurt will appreciate.

Sure enough, Kurt is smiling as he shrugs off his scarf and jacket and toes off his shoes. "This is nice."

Blaine reaches up to loosen his bow tie. "I thought so."

Kurt hesitates, then takes the ends of the tie in his hands, using them to tug Blaine's face up for a kiss.  That first barrier breached, it's easy to let Kurt remove the material from his neck, easy to reach for Kurt's shirt buttons and begin the careful process of getting close. Careful not because they're scared or unsure, but because it's vitally important to them both that this be right, be  _meaningful_ , even when it's a lot, even when they feel seconds away from shaking apart simply at the idea of it.

They lie down on their sides facing each other, exchanging soft, damp kisses while reacquainting themselves with faces, necks, and chests.  Kurt is beautiful in the dancing candlelight, pale and faintly freckled, his eyes wide, his mouth generously curved.  Blaine makes detours down his jaw and neck, savoring each kiss, each taste, and when Kurt's head falls back he lets his teeth come into play.  The noises Kurt makes drive Blaine's pulse like a lash.

Fingers skim over the dip of collarbones, pectoral muscles, and Kurt's side and waist. Blaine hesitates here—where they go from kisses below the shoulder usually indicates what they want.  They're not very good at talking about it, so they have physical cues instead; if they intend to use hands, they'll let their hands slide down first.  If they want to have oral sex, they'll kiss each other down the length of their chests.  If Blaine wants Kurt inside of him, he'll push Kurt's hands around to his butt.  But they've never done what Blaine wants to do, so what does he do now?

Kurt's mouth opens over the curve of his shoulder, teeth and tongue first, and Blaine exhales shakily, his right hand slipping down the middle of Kurt's back.  He shivers, twisting to get closer, and lets his hand coast over Kurt's butt and behind his thigh.  All at once, Kurt goes still.

"Pants off?"

Blaine swallows. "Sure."

They sit up to take their pants off, and then quickly resume the same position, only this time Kurt's long, naked leg drapes over Blaine's hip.  Blaine makes a pleased noise and tucks his hand against Kurt's lower back. They kiss, shifting back toward a slower pace, choosing to build gradually back up to tongues dipping into mouths and Kurt's fingers wrapping around Blaine's curls.  Finally, they're too hard in their underwear to avoid pressing together—Kurt rubs forward first, whimpering when their bulges touch, and Blaine follows his lead, using the hold he has on Kurt's thigh to steady them.

Kurt's high-pitched, bitten-off moans drive him crazy.  He wants to make Kurt make all kinds of noises.  He wants to make Kurt feel so good he'll think about it all week when they're not able to be like this and memory is all they have to carry them through to the next time.

He breathes heavier, faster, his hips gyrating against Kurt's as their cocks harden and push up toward the waistbands of their underwear.  Sweat and the smallest drops of pre-come mingle to create a moist feeling that isn't entirely pleasant but is amazing because what they're doing to cause that feels amazing.

Braver for that, Blaine lets his right hand slip down the back of Kurt's underwear. Kurt's skin is warm and a little sweaty where his boxer briefs have ridden up the crack of his butt.  He inhales sharply when Blaine cups one cheek, his hips jolting forward.  Blaine can feel how hard he is, his big cock shoved to the right because, fully erect, it's almost too large for his underwear to neatly contain.

Blaine forces himself to slow down, even though he doesn't want to, dragging his hands all over Kurt's butt—from where it starts to swell at his sacrum to the soft, enticing roundness of his balls and everywhere in between, feeling goosebumps form beneath Kurt's hair and growing more excited with every touch.  

Kurt shifts forward, making their chests touch from top to belly and cramming their cocks together.  It feels urgent, so letting his fingers slip in between Kurt's cheeks seems like a natural progression.

"Oh," Kurt moans, explosive and sudden, and Blaine's cock throbs.

"Yeah?"

"Y-yeah."

Shaking, he strokes his fingertips up and down Kurt's crack.  Kurt is hot and silky there, full of twitchy trembling from the quaking of nervous thighs, and when Blaine begins carefully playing with the wrinkle of his hole, he moans again, and begins rocking back and forth between Blaine's hand and erection.

In celebration and perhaps not a small amount of overdoing it, Blaine strokes and strokes until he feels the center of Kurt's hole trying to capture his fingertips every time they dial close.

They can't continue without talking, and Blaine feels like he'll die if they don't continue.

"More?" he asks, flushing hot.

Kurt makes an affirmative, garbled noise.

Relieved, belly squirming, Blaine retrieves lubricant and a condom from the shoebox beneath his bed.  Opening the tube is always embarrassing and noisy, but Kurt is nuzzling into his neck and writhing against his cock, so the distraction level is high, and that makes it easier.  After he's messily coated two fingers he returns them to where they were.  The way Kurt sighs in pleasurable relief makes his heart soar and his balls tighten.  The way Kurt spreads for him, tips back into his hand, makes him feel virile.

Blaine sweeps his fingertips to spread and warm the lubricant, then focuses on Kurt's rim.  He loves feeling the bumpy skin pucker.  After Kurt relaxes into him, he brings his pointer and middle fingertips together against the center of Kurt's hole, applying pressure as he draws circles.

He's not prepared for Kurt's reaction to be so—much.  Kurt is breathing heavily, churning against Blaine's body as if driven by some wild, outside force.  He's being noisier than he usually is, and his hands are almost rough on Blaine's chest and back, unable to find a spot to settle.

When it seems as if he's moment away from being unable to cope he gasps, "M-more."

Blaine whimpers into his heaving throat.  The angle is uncomfortable for Blaine's wrist but he doesn't care—he arches it and presses Kurt's pelvis back and separates his middle finger from the others and pushes it into Kurt's ass.  Kurt groans and rolls back, sending it the rest of the way in, right down to the knuckle.  He's unbearably tight and hot and Blaine can't think straight.

"Oh my god," Kurt moans, as Blaine gently pumps his finger. "Oh my god,  _oh my god_."

"Okay?"

"Yeah.   _Oh_. Oh my god."

Blaine does this far longer than necessary, but he isn't quite sure where that line is, so it's better to err on the side of caution, he supposes.  

The front of Kurt's underwear is wet, sticking to Blaine's when they peel apart with every backward thrust.  Blaine carefully edges his fingers out, and then presses down on the elastic waistband with his thumbs.

"W-wh—don't—" Kurt begging him not to stop is possibly the hottest thing he has ever experienced.

The look of lust on his face as he peels Kurt's sticky underwear from his flushed, throbbing cock is enough to reassure, at least, he hopes.  He stares, unabashedly aroused, at the dark cloth sliding down Kurt's legs, at Kurt's cock bobbing, full and heavy, toward his hip.  The head is tight and swollen and dark.

When Blaine presses his finger back inside of Kurt, the glide is so smooth and Kurt is so squirmy he knows it's not enough.  He adds his pointer finger and another dollop of lubricant, half-holding his breath the entire time.  The second finger is easier—Kurt is wonderfully stretched.  Still, he takes his time, carefully working the two in and out, distracted by the surging brand of Kurt's cock against his hip.  

Kurt begins to move again, rocking around Blaine's fingers and rubbing off on his belly to a hypnotic rhythm that is entirely his own.  

And then he stops. "Oh—whoa,  _whoa_."

"Did I hurt you?" Blaine asks.

"No.  Just. Close."

Blaine's heart slams against his chest. "Oh." Is this what success feels like? "Do you want to, um?  Or..."

"Or," Kurt blurts.  He's flushed all the way down his heaving chest. "Or, please." He hesitates and then adds, equally rushed, "I've wanted or pretty much since you started touching me."

"You could have said.  I—I don't mind."

Kurt presses close, and kisses the seashell curve of his ear. "Noted."

A moment passes between them, warm and intense and close.  

This is probably the most communication they've managed since the first time or two. Blaine is elated and nervous and confident all at once.

He kisses up the side of Kurt's neck to the sensitive spot below his ear. "You—you like this?" He screws his fingers deeper, feeling brave.

"Y-yeah."

"You could say that, too."

"What?" Kurt's ass chases the retreat of his fingers, closing up hungrily.

"That you l-like it."

Kurt's mouth spreads in a smile against his bicep. "Blaine Anderson, are you trying to get me to talk dirty?"

"Maybe."

Kurt presses close and wraps one leg around Blaine's hip, spreading himself beneath Blaine's hand.  His breath rushes hot and quick against Blaine's ear. "I like it.  I like your fingers in me." He cups Blaine's cock through his underwear. "But I want this now. Okay?"

"Oh, god. Yeah, yeah, just—" Confidence momentarily taken apart by that, Blaine fumbles for the condom he grabbed when he took out the lubricant.

Kurt picks up the pieces of his composure for him, taking the foil packet and ripping it open.  Still, their hands are shaking as Blaine wriggles out of his underwear, half sitting up with his cock bobbing between them as Kurt rolls the condom on.

Kurt's cheeks are flushed and his eyes bright with wanting as his hand moves. "Good?" They haven't had the best track record with condoms, but this time it's on right.  Blaine nods.

He passes the lubricant over and Kurt fills his palm before sitting up on his knees.  He bites his lip and straddles Blaine's hips.  Blaine lies down on his back, shaking—the pillows under him and Kurt on top of him is exciting in new and strength-robbing ways.

"You—you are so gorgeous," he says, bursting with the need to say it, with wanting Kurt to  _believe_  it.

Kurt seems encouraged by this sudden, talkative shift.  He scoots up Blaine's thighs, and Blaine inhales sharply when his cock slides over Kurt's balls to nudge against his ass.

"I'm not sure how much I can—fit," Kurt says, trembling and red-faced. He reaches back to tug on Blaine's cock, making the latex shift.

"Whatever feels comfortable.  You—you're in charge." Blaine's belly trembles and his heart pounds.  He wants to be inside of Kurt so badly.  He can't think beyond the need for friction and pressure around his aching cock, so he trusts Kurt to take what he wants and nothing more.

"You know just what to say." Kurt smiles impishly and begins rubbing against him. "Mm."

"Just—go slow?" Blaine needn't add,  _because I don't want to come in three seconds like the last time_.

Rising under the shimmering candlelight, Kurt spreads around the shaft of Blaine's cock, a blissful expression stealing across his face.  Blaine inhales deeply, and exhales long and slow when Kurt begins rubbing the tip into the depression of his hole, his whole body tightening as his torso and hips tense up.

The inch down is a sweet torment with two pauses for more lubricant, Kurt's fingers glistening as they do their work.  The ecstasy is quiet, contained in the cavities of their lungs, in the tension on Kurt's face as his body gives way to the invasion.  Blaine doesn't dare to move, doesn't remind Kurt of his doubts about this working until Kurt is shaking around the base of his cock, his belly heaving and his eyes closed.

Blaine slides his sweaty palms up Kurt's thighs, pressing the hair there back against its grain.

And then Kurt's hips move, back and forth, and Blaine reaches down to wrap a hand around himself, squeezing hard to push the feeling back and steady himself so Kurt can—

Rise, marble white and glorious under orange light, his belly sucked up between his ribs, his hands falling to brace themselves against Blaine's chest as he comes down on bended knee, his weight settling.  Blaine is as far in as he can physically be, and Kurt laughs, actually  _laughs_ , and then gasps.  He's tomato red down to his nipples, looking everywhere but into Blaine's eyes as he rocks up and down, his half-hard cock swaying between his legs.  

Kurt truly is in charge, and though Blaine isn't grateful for that every time he is now, when he can feel how out of control he himself is, how badly he needs Kurt to set the pace and do what feels good.  So much of this is out of his hands—he can't know exactly what Kurt likes or what feels right because Kurt has never had him like this before and they haven't discussed specifics.  He has never worked up the nerve to ask Kurt if he owns sex toys, if he— _oh.  Don't think about that right now._

Kurt rides him slowly, then, a note of insecurity singing through his initial confidence.  Now that they're here and it's working and it feels good, Kurt is trying to settle into the scenario without over-thinking it or being selfish—Blaine can practically see the wheels in his head turning.

Into the sweaty, breathy silence Blaine says, "Lean back."

"H-huh?" Kurt goes still.

Blaine flattens his palms on and drags them down Kurt's long, lean chest. "Please?" Kurt moves, shifting his hands from Blaine's chest to his thighs. The way he looks as he bends back takes Blaine's breath away.  Blaine makes a fist around his cock. "Now just—like before, only—"

"O-okay." Kurt's thighs and arms and shoulders bunch harder at this angle, providing some relief to his thighs, which seems to help him relax.  

And then of course there's Blaine's ultimate goal, stimulating Kurt's prostate, which is a pot shot in terms of potential success.  He knows that doesn't come into play for every person, every time.  

Kurt shivers as he finds a comfortable rhythm—his belly quivers and his cock jumps in Blaine's hand, and a few minutes later he's rolling his pelvis while Blaine thrusts up into him, and—

"Ho-hngh-ha- _ah_ , what—"

"Yeah.  _Yeah_." Blaine wraps his free hand around Kurt's hip, digs his heels into the bed, and begins thrusting faster, harder, up and in.  Kurt fights him a little—tries to come down differently, at an angle that might provide more direct friction to Blaine, but Blaine bucks and presses his thumbs into Kurt's hip bones hard enough to bruise to stop him. "Don't.  Don't worry about me." In fact, it's helping him hold off his orgasm, which is all he wants for at least a few more minutes.

The extra sensation creates cracks in the surface of Kurt's resolve, and does much to unravel his resistance to show what he's feeling—only a minute or two of Blaine's cock grazing his prostate and he's sweating, breathing jerkily, and stopping and starting every few thrusts.  His eyes are glazed and his arms are quivering and he's staring at the ceiling as if it's as much a part of this as they are.

Blaine slows his hand. "Are you close?"

"I—" Kurt rises up, shifting to a more downward angle.  Blaine hisses and arches his back.

"Hey," Blaine says. "It's okay.  Just—does it feel good?"

"Y-yeah."

"When I press up like that?" He's no expert, but talking seems to draw Kurt back in, to dismiss some of the negative tension.  He wraps his hand around the head of Kurt's cock and jerks it. "Do you want to...?"

"I will if you keep doing  _that_." Blaine swivels his hips as best he can, pinned down as he is. "B-Blaine."

"Yeah?"

"Don't stop."

Blaine watches Kurt's belly rise and fall sharply.  Watches his cock flush and his tight, swollen balls swing and the muscles in his thighs chord up. Watches him when he finally dares to look down at where they're joined, at where Blaine's hand is blurring around him.  Blaine's grip is relatively dry.  Kurt won't last much longer.

The broken, high-pitched sob Kurt releases when he comes hangs in the air between them and Blaine follows him embarrassingly fast, jacking up into him blindly, lost to it before it even finishes having its way with him. Kurt makes a mess everywhere, streaks and splatters all over them both.  He bends over Blaine's chest, panting, twitching, the knobby line of his spine flexing under Blaine's unsteady hand.

"Oh my god, oh my god," he chants, over and over.  And then, when he's sucking down air, surprises Blaine with a gently explosive, "That felt so  _good_."

Blaine laughs, leaning up on his elbows to press his face into Kurt's neck. "The word 'understatement' seems weak, here."

"This is disgusting." Kurt looks down at the mess and then smiles, wrapping his arms around Blaine's broad, sweaty shoulders. "We need to do that again."

Blaine grins and splays his fingers across Kurt's back. "I hear the third time's the charm."


End file.
